feathers rest beside you, confusingly still.
as always it has escaped your mind:
out in the garden where the crows perch like towers.
love, each day I’ve watched it grow and become dust
as they feed with beaks and razor sharp talons
picking it away into nothingness.
lying in a bed of fractured, yellowed reeds,
dry soil and scattered, drying leaves
are black towers. you once looked out through
the kitchen window, smiling, love, smiling.
black crow perched on your heart, it feeds.
the dead shriek, the dead shriek, it flies,
marching like a guard to the watchtower.
death, black crow, death, you cry.
I swept your feathers beneath the carpet, black crow.
love, your garden has become overgrown left
love, why do you still see roses?